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He came from the desert.
Unlike the other Fremen, the prince's eyes were not veiled by a blue haze; his eyes were pitch black as darkness - attentive, having not yet lost their glimmers of humanity.
They will disappear in a few years into the desert, Hongjoong thought with sadness. This happened to all who dedicated their lives to the sands, and it will happen to the prince, too. He's one of a kind, of course, but not an exception, for there was nothing stronger than the desert in the world.
"What's your name?" Hongjoong asked, using the formal dialect. Showing respect to any guest was his immediate duty, but in this case, he also simply wanted to.
Of course, he knew the prince's name. It was unlikely there would be anyone within several planets who didn't know Jung Wooyoung. Having lost his father, a ruler, and becoming a ruler himself at a very young age, he had become a new messiah for the desert people. And if the rumors weren't false by even half, Hongjoong should immediately fall to his knees and bow his head before him.
Rumors spoke variously about Jung Wooyoung, but one thing they were true about was his appearance - as he was extraordinarily handsome and serious. The close-fitting Fremen suit did not hide his strong build; Hongjoong followed the tense muscles of his shoulders with his gaze, noticing how they flexed as the prince bowed, pressing his hand to the chest.
"Jung Wooyoung," he simply introduced himself, using the same formal dialect.
His hair fell into his eyes, and his gaze became predatory, more cautious. An inexplicable sense of danger sank deep in Hongjoong’s stomach. Before he could even realize, he instinctively looked around, noting four guards standing beside him, and calmed down a little. Still, if he really put his brain to it, he could probably assume that none of these strong warriors could hold back the prince whose combat skills had already been glorified in songs.
"We come in peace, young lord," Wooyoung said, straightening up.
Two Fremen behind him took a step forward, and all three of them spat simultaneously at their feet. Hongjoong knew that this was their way of showing respect and good intentions, so he nodded peacefully.
“Thank you, guests from the desert," he said in a reserved manner, as decorum demanded, and rose, adjusting the heavy hem of his jewel-encrusted gown. “You must be tired from your journey. My servants will escort you; we will meet at dinner.”
He descended from his throne slowly, jingling with jewels and rows of sewn-in coins, and even when the doors closed behind him, he could feel the desert prince’s scrutinizing gaze on him.
“How many years ago was this?” Wooyoung asked in a raspy voice.
The sun shone relentlessly through the gap in the curtains, and he winced, pressing Hongjoong to himself so tightly that it became hard to breathe. Hongjoong was too weak to struggle, so he settled meekly on Wooyoung’s chest and closed his eyes.
It was still hot and wet between his legs, but for some reason, he wanted more. Wooyoung took him several times during the night, and each time it was better than the previous one, but he still craved for more. He desired not just to be together for this short, awfully short time, but to become one, merge into a single organism, and breathe with a single set of lungs.
“Almost five moons have passed,” Hongjoong answered. He felt a sharp pang shoot through his chest.
Wooyoung stroked his hair gently, then lifted his chin with his fingers and bit into his dry lips. He loved kissing, and perhaps that was the only thing that did not make him an entirely desert person - Fremen were too reluctant to share their precious moisture with others.
A calloused hand slid around his waist and softly slapped; Hongjoong straightened up obediently, without breaking the kiss, and sat atop, pressing against the firm chest. The closeness and warmth of another body drove him mad, longing for touch.
“Take me with you,” Hongjoong whispered, impaling himself on his fingers.
Wooyoung smiled into his lips and kissed him again. They talked about this every time he returned after long nights spent with Fremen, but each time the conversation led to a dead end.
“The princess wouldn't like the sands,” he said bitterly, as if he genuinely felt sorry. “It's hot and dirty there.”
Hongjoong thought that was roughly how it was, but Wooyoung still accepted their fate with much more resignation than he did himself. There was no desire in him to oppose the natural course of time and events, and that was quite logical. Hongjoong accepted this, but every time something inside him wanted to rebel, to disagree.
Wooyoung kissed him under the jaw and left a hickey, biting sharply with his teeth. His second hand rested on Hongjoong’s waist and stroked gently, while his fingers moved faster and deeper, and soon Hongjoong began to breathe harder, dropping his head on Wooyoung's shoulder.
“I love you,” Wooyoung said simply as if it was something mundane, “I love you more than you can imagine.”
Hongjoong groaned louder, closing his eyes. He probably could have come from just his fingers if Wooyoung kept saying his sweet nonsense into his ear, touching his earlobe with his lips, but he suddenly withdrew his fingers and embraced Hongjoong around the waist, causing him to lift slightly. Hongjoong did not have much strength, but still obeyed: he slid his arm behind him and gripped the half-hard cock with unbending palms. He slipped it inside so easily, as if it was supposed to be there all along, and the thought made Hongjoong tremble.
“Do you love me, princess?” Wooyoung asked with a smile, gently grabbing his chin and looking into his eyes.
Suddenly, Hongjoong wanted to burst into tears. Because of the injustice, the necessity to submit to fate; because of the fact that Wooyoung could never stay with him, in the warm bed forever. Because Wooyoung would never belong to him completely. After all, back as a very young boy, he had forever given his heart and soul to the desert.
“Take me away,” Hongjoong whispered softly, blinking back tears, “I beg you.”
Without replying, Wooyoung pushed deep and sharp into him, and both groaned, pressing against each other.
Hongjoong suddenly wanted to freeze forever, so he threw himself around Wooyoung's neck, holding on so tightly, so close that their breathing became more ragged. If only he could, he would stay like that forever, so that Wooyoung would never leave him alone in the lifeless rooms tainted with wealth.
“Princess,” exhaled Wooyoung, kissing all over his lips, eyes, cheeks, darting around as if he was in a fever, “Tell me, do you love me?”
He pushed even harder, holding him by the waist, impaling him like a doll, and Hongjoong whimpered helplessly. It felt so good and painful, yet he still wanted to stop the merciless flow of time.
Wooyoung left at dawn.
Despite the impressive number of guards and fighters, the royal palace was the first to fall.
As they ran through underground tunnels, the father managed to say very little to Hongjoong - there were unwanted ears everywhere - that there must have been a mole among his subjects, because no outsider could have planned such an attack on one of the most protected places on the planet so well.
Of course, father was full of a fierce desire for justice and was dreaming of personally beheading every traitor, but Hongjoong did not take much interest in that. He couldn't fight and was seeking not revenge, but salvation.
Quickly stepping barefoot along the rocky path leading to a potential refuge, Hongjong felt nothing, neither fear nor pain, only a dull lingering grief for what he had lost, though he didn’t fully realize it yet. His home, where he was born and raised, knew every stone, was leveled to the ground in an instant behind him, gone in the blink of an eye.
The Baron’s fleet was visible from afar: a giant, stately machine descended so gracefully, as if it weighed nothing, and the sand flew apart beneath its imposing blades. Hongjoong hesitated only for a second, but that moment made him realize that there was basically nowhere to run: there was no way back, the road ahead was blocked, and there was nothing to the sides but the endless desert.
He still felt no fear or horror, and only the shouts of servants sobered him and brought him back to reality. Hongjoong feverishly replayed in his mind how enemy bullets would hit his father’s chest, and now he would have no one left at all.
Baron’s troops will kill his father, that’s beyond doubt, but they will most likely take him prisoner. The young successor of a powerful ruler could be very useful. Hongjoong looked at his father and somehow nodded, and his father nodded back - he perfectly understood everything.
The Fremen appeared precisely at the moment the enemy squads set foot on the land. They emerged from the sands as if out of nowhere, and it took Hongjoong a few painfully long seconds to notice the familiar figure. Under the cloak, Wooyoung looked somewhat different, but still stood out against the others - short but broad-shouldered, with tangled, slightly wavy hair.
Chroniclers must write about this battle later, Hongjoong thought, not daring to move against the grandeur of the power he was witnessing. He had never seen Fremen in combat before, and reality surpassed all his expectations, even the boldest ones. They moved like sand, like water, flowing from one state to another, elusive to the human eye.
Wooyoung was beside him so unexpectedly that Hongjoong, unable to stay on his feet, fell right into his arms.
“Princess.”
It was hard to hear through the mask, but Hongjoong still guessed.
They hadn't seen each other for countless moons, and all he wanted was to greet the next moon together.
Hongjoong hugged him tightly around the neck, meeting his father’s gaze. They had never spoken about his strange attachment to the desert prince, but the father was not stupid - in fact, he was one of the wisest people Hongjoong knew, so no one was surprised when the ruler waved his hand graciously.
There was no time for long farewells, but Wooyoung still found time for an official gratitude. He took Hongjoong off himself, handing him over to one of his companions who appeared just in time, and then approached the ruler. Removing his heavy mask, he spat at his feet.
“From now on, your son's fate is in the hands of the desert,” came the words to Hongjoong’s ear, and his body was seized by a shiver.
He had been praying for this moment for half his life, but now that it finally happened, he did not know what to feel. A storm of emotions, like a tempest, rose from his stomach to his throat, and Hongjoong had to make a great effort to hold back and stand still.
Father exchanged a handshake with Wooyoung - an ancient, long-forgotten tradition - but Wooyoung returned it with warmth and gratitude. Then father approached Honjoong and embraced him tightly, something he hadn’t done since Hongjoong’s infancy. His warm, slightly trembling hands hesitated as they gripped Hongjoong’s shoulders, letting go just as quickly, and Hongjoong stepped back with relief - neither of them was accustomed to touch.
“May the heavens protect you, child,” said father, his dry lips curling into the faintest smile.
Hongjoong bowed, trying to memorize every line on that wrinkled face - one he would never see again in this life.
Wooyoung waited a few moments before tugging at his sleeve, gently but insistently.
“Come, my princess,” he said, slipping his mask back on. “The desert is waiting.”